Fragments
by Cinderburster
Summary: Any and all short stories and drabbles that I write will go here. G1.  Newest Story: Uptight.  WARNING: CONTAINS SLASH
1. Valentine

**Summary**: Because I can. And I like this pairing. AND IT WOULDN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD, PRIMUS DAMNIT. Those plot bunnies have sharp fangs sometimes. Even if they are small.

**Disclaimer:** Transformers (c) HasTek. I don't claim any ownership of them. Or the song. But I can't remember who wrote it, so just know that I don't own it and don't sue me.

**WARNING**: Mild fluffy slash ahead! IF YOU DON'T LIKE SLASH DO NOT READ. I repeat, no likey the slashy, no ready the ficcy.

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**Valentine**

_"Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved."_

- Victor Hugo (1802 - 1885)

**  
**

It was such an odd, silly custom.

Still, something about this odd ritual, this showing of affection on a specific day instead of year-round had set a fire in my imagination as soon as Spike had explained it to me.

A fire that had raged until it had become an all-consuming obsession that had finally culminated in this moment.

I had long ago memorized Wheeljack's habitual wanderings about the Ark. It wasn't difficult to do: first thing after recharge he would head to the mess hall for his morning ration; then to the wash rack, without fail; and finally to his lab, where he'd hole himself up for the rest of the solar cycle and wouldn't be seen again unless accompanied by an explosion and a cloud of noxious smoke.

Using this knowledge to my advantage, I had placed a token of my affection on one of the workbenches in the lab, right next to the newest harebrained invention he was tinkering with. I placed a card next to it, resplendent with ridiculously colored pastel hearts, and then slipped out of the lab and around a corner, leaning with my back against the wall to wait until the opportune moment to wander by.

I didn't have to stand there long; I heard his footfalls mere astroticks later. You could have set a chronometer by his daily routine. I waited a few more kliks after the heavily reinforced – not that it did much good – door of the lab opened with a pneumatic wheeze. I squared my shoulders and strolled nonchalantly down the hall. If anyone stopped me to ask I was on my way to med bay to check on First Aid's progress with his latest patient. Not that he really needed my help anymore, but it was as good an excuse as any.

Fortunately, the corridor was unusually free of the other Ark residents. I walked a little past the lab, glancing in, feigning indifference. I mimed a double-take and backpedaled to lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest plate and staring at our resident mad scientist.

His back was to me, but I could tell from the glow of the protrusions on either side of his helm that he was pleased; very much so. If it weren't for the accursed battleguard he insisted on wearing at all times – although I couldn't blame him, after all, I knew why he'd had it installed – he would have been grinning from audio to audio.

Primus, he was gorgeous when he was happy.

I cleared my vocalizer, alerting him to my presence and carefully keeping my face schooled in a look of, I thought, bemused sarcasm. I raised an optic ridge, eyeing the gift that he was holding like it was something utterly precious – I felt a little thrill of gratification at that – when he turned to look at me. I nearly smiled, but managed at the last moment to turn it into a wry smirk.

"Y'know, Wheeljack, I find the fact that a new wrench makes you so happy to be slightly disturbing," I quipped dryly. He shot me one of his playful glares that I so delighted in teasing out of him.

"Yeah, well, this one's from a _secret admirer_," he said, obviously enjoying the phrase; a secret was always exciting – a secret admirer even more so. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" He moved towards me, and it was all I could do not to simply grab him, find the catch that I knew would pop that Primus damned battleguard off, and kiss him silly. He just looked so… happy. And it was because of _me_.

As he slipped by me one of his hands just barely tapped my aft, and I flinched slightly, whipping my head around to stare at his retreating back. He was humming a tune to himself as he walked away, and I knew I must have looked completely flabbergasted when my CPU started putting words to it.

_Doctor, doctor, give me the news I've got a bad case of loving you!_


	2. Uptight

**Summary:** Sometimes the smartest people are also the slowest on the uptake…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. REPEAT. DO. NOT. OWN. So don't sue my happy butt, okay?

**Warning:** Contains slashy implications. No like-y, no ready.

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**Uptight**

_"You have got to be the **dumbest** smart person I've ever met!"_

_- _Del Spooner, _i, robot_**  
**

"Wheeljack."

"Neh?"

"You're too uptight."

The engineer looked up from the datapad he'd been studying. Okay, not really studying; more like absentmindedly staring at while his CPU meandered around the wonderful world of scientific equations. There was a particularly burly velocity/weight one relating to an upgrade for Sideswipe's jet pack that was giving him trouble. At Ratchet's off-hand – and off-the-wall, too, Wheeljack thought – comment, the equation fled to be replaced by confusion. He arched a brow ridge at the medic.

"I have two questions for ya," he said after a moment. "_Why_ are ya here and where in the Pit did _that_ assessment come from?"

Ratchet gave him a long stare, as if rolling the questions around in his CPU before answering. "Well, now. The first question is difficult to answer in the metaphysical sense, but in the physical, I am here, Wheeljack, because I walked in that door –" He gestured at said door with an expansive wave of one arm. "—and sat down on this berth." The medic patted the cool metal of said berth with one hand. Then he pinned Wheeljack with one of his patented Pre-Flying-Object glares. "And that assessment came from the fact that you tore Swoop a new one for practically nothing this afternoon."

"He dropped the –"

"'Jack."

"But –"

"'_Jack_."

"I—"

"STOW IT."

To Wheeljack's chagrin he did, in fact, stow it. He knew in his spark that Ratchet was right. He _had_ been irritable lately, Primus knew why. Of course, Primus wasn't going to _tell_ him why, so he'd have to go to the next best source. Namely, the source that was currently sitting on his recharge berth and giving him a smug smirk.

"Thank you," Ratchet said. He gave Wheeljack another stare. The engineer fidgeted slightly, wondering just what was going on in his friend's CPU. They'd known each other for a long, long time, and some would assume that meant that Wheeljack had some sort of insight into how Ratchet's mind worked. That simply wasn't the case; Ratchet was far too complicated to be read, at times.

This was one of them.

Just as Wheeljack was about to speak, headfins flashing dimly, the medic spoke.

"So, how long has it been since you last overloaded?"

Wheeljack stared, optics wide. What the hell kind of question was _that_? If he hadn't been wearing his customary battleguard his jaw would have dropped; if he'd been human he would've been blushing. As it was, he fidgeted with the datapad on the table, normally dexterous fingers fumbling distractedly.

"Uh. I dunno, Ratch. Why?"

"Because that, my friend, is your problem."

Another incredulous look and Wheeljack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his red-white-and-green chest. "Okay. _Assuming_ that's the problem, what do ya propose I _do_ about it?"

Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, unconsciously mimicking the engineer. "Weell that is a dilemma, isn't it? There aren't any femmes on base, are there?"

"Ya know there aren't."

"Mm-hmm." Ratchet looked at the ceiling.

Wheeljack just gave him a blank look. "…am I missing something here?"

The medic's optics flicked to him, an optic ridge rising. He gave Wheeljack one of his patented If-You-Were-Any-More-Stupid-You'd-Be-Dysfunctional looks, and said nothing.

"…what?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, stood up, and moved to stand next to the thoroughly flummoxed engineer. He patted his shoulder companionably. "Nothing, 'Jack. I was just throwing out an explanation. Really, I think it's more likely lack of proper recharge. Get some sleep," he said.

Wheeljack watched Ratchet leave, completely and utterly confused. He turned back to the datapad on the table as the door hissed shut. What was that all about? Why had Ratchet even brought the matter up, and then dismissed it a moment later? And what in the name of Primus had been with all those Looks?!

He sighed, resting his helm in the palms of his hands. There was an even bigger question here…

…why did he feel like he'd just failed some sort of test?

**END.**


End file.
